A Dance with Destiny
by 3detectives1writer
Summary: Entry 3 for Jumin and V week 4/12: AU/Crossover/First Meeting


**A/N: As many of you may have guessed, these all fall into the same-ish universe. This one will not cause any sadness. I decided to give you guys a break for a day.**

"Jumin Han! Stop fidgeting with your bowtie!"

Jumin frowned for the umpteenth time that evening but reluctantly did as his mother asked. She offered him a smile and readjusted the tie.

"There's my handsome boy! Oh, you're getting so big!" his mother squealed, pinching his cheeks.

"Mother!" he protested, shrinking away from her touch and rubbing the sore area.

She sighed and stood once again, this time opting to brush through his hair with her fingers. "Just for a little while, Darling. Who knows? You may even find a friend!"

Jumin scoffed. "Please. All the other boys just want to run around and mess with stuff, and the girls all have cooties."

His mother laughed and turned to the mirror, her long red evening gown swishing as she moved. "Aw, well, maybe today will be different. Just keep an open mind."

She clasped on the last piece of her ensemble, an elaborate ruby necklace that was a gift from her husband, before reaching for her son's hand.

"C'mon, Son. Your father is waiting."

(~)

There were many reasons why he hated company parties, but wearing this stupid tuxedo was currently at the top of his list. Naturally, it was a fitted tux, so he couldn't move as much as he wanted to.

The six-year-old boy knew the drill by now, dutifully following his parents as they made their rounds. He forced a smile as they posed for a picture, keeping up the façade of a perfect family.

There was always a reason his father kept him around during the meet-and-greet portion of the evening. Children always held a soft-spot in people's hearts. His father would often reward him with candy or even a little money when he said something particularly clever during a conversation.

Yes, it was often a curse to be the adorable son and heir to C&R's Chairman . . .

But after that, he was basically invisible, deposited into the kid's section as his parents worked their charms without the extra weight. To give them credit, they did stop by to check if he was okay before the nanny finally whisked him away.

The usual crowd of children littered the kids section, fighting over trivial things like seats or messing with the opposite sex (like when the boys try to stomp on the girls' dresses). Jumin found his usual corner near the window, glaring at the naïve children who dared to sit there first. Even at six, he was an intimidating figure.

He planted himself into the soft, velvet chair, pulling the book he'd hidden hours earlier out of the mahogany side table. Father always emphasized education, and Jumin was always once to take advantage of this. It was no secret that the boy loved fiction books, especially poetry.

He smiled as he opened the book. This collection of poems was his favorite, especially the titular one.

Hmm . . . he had to recite something for the class soon . . .

Jumin murmured the poem to himself, careful to pronounce the lines just as his father and mother used to read it to him. Perfection is a quality instilled in Hans since birth, and he was no exception.

" _Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black_

 _And the dark street winds and bends._

 _Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow_

 _We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,_

 _And watch where the chalk-white arrows go_

 _To the place where the sidewalk ends . . ."_

" _. . . Yes we'll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,_

 _And we'll go where the chalk-white arrows go,_

 _For the children, they mark, and the children, they know_

 _The place where the sidewalk ends._ "

The voice startled him, and he looked around for the owner, He was torn between being mad that someone interrupted him and glad that someone else knew this poem like he did.

His eyes fell on a small, turquoise-haired boy wearing a matching bowtie with his white tuxedo. The boy shied away from his gaze and approached him cautiously. He was probably aware of Jumin's reputation.

"Sorry, I couldn't help it. That's one of my favorite poems."

Jumin remained silent and studied him as he slowly lowered the book.

"Um . . . I'm Jihyun. Kim Jihyun, actually," he continued, offering a small hand.

Jumin waited another beat before taking it.

"How do you know poetry? Aren't most boys our age more concerned on who has the biggest fart or how many spit wads they can launch?"

"My parents are artists. It's against their religion not to expose me to all forms of art," Jihyun shrugged.

"You're Han Jumin, right?"

"Let me guess. My reputation precedes me. What lies has Choi Jeong-Sin and Gyeong been spreading about me?" Jumin carefully set the book down on the table.

"Oh, I've heard monster, cruel, ugliest boy ever. I think there was a demon's spawn somewhere, but that could be mother talking about politics again . . ."

Jumin laughed. Wow, he hadn't done that in a while . . . In fact, he thinks he scared the kids nearby.

"Well, I'm sorry I'd rather spend my time reading rather than pulling Ryu Nari's pigtails . . .

Would you like to join me? I've got loads of books scattered around this party."

Both boys were surprised at this request, especially Jumin. He _never_ made friends, yet he so willingly allowed this strange boy into his personal bubble.

Jihyun was about to respond when a petite woman approached them. "Time to go. Your mother and father have shows in the morning."

The small boy looked at his new acquaintance regretfully, and Jumin had a feeling he actually meant it. "Another time. It was nice meeting you, Jumin."

(~)

The rest of the evening was dreadfully dull, but he was glad the nanny took him away before the _Incident._ Just another thing the kids would gossip about at school . . .

After the long weekend stuck in the house due to the media storm outside, Jumin returned to school ready to present his poem. He'd practiced with the staff multiple times, even sneaking a reading to his mother. He shouldn't have anything to worry about.

But as a six-year-old boy, _everything_ worries you. The class slowly filed in, chattering away as they settled in their seats.

A peek of blue caught his attention, averting his gaze from the poem in his hand. The blue-haired boy felt his gaze, and he slowly turned to look at Jumin, waving back in recognition.

Huh. Has he always been in his class?

Before he could get up and talk to him, the teacher walked in. Perhaps he could see him during lunch.

(~)

His presentation went smoothly despite the snickering and whispers. Even at a young age, Jumin knew not to take it personally.

He sat down in his usual seat and pretended to listen to the other presentations. The other children chose dull or basic poems, some even having the same one as someone else. They all blended together after a while.

When Jihyun's name was called, Jumin broke from his trance. The boy looked nervous as he walked up to the podium, his hands shaking terribly as he tried to smooth out the wrinkles.

He began his poem with a shaky breath, stuttering a few times. The class bullies snickered, which only made it worse. At one point, he mispronounced a word so terribly that the class laughed, save for Jumin.

Jihyun broke into tears and stepped off the podium, running out of the room in shame as the teacher followed after him.

"Ha, that poem was really lame just like him."

"Yeah, and he started crying too. Only babies cry. What a loser."

Jumin's fists clenched as he heard similar comments from the bully group to the point where he couldn't take it anymore.

"That's enough, Jeong-Sin."

The bully looked at him in disbelief, wondering what gave him the nerve to challenge him in front of the class.

"What did you say, Han? Are you seriously defending that baby?"

"I told you to stop. You had your fun. Let it go," Jumin said more defiantly.

"Woah, we're just messing around. It's not my fault he can't take a joke. He's probably going home to his mommy to cry."

He continued to taunt Jumin, insulting both him and his acquaintance as the whole class watched with baited breath. Jumin will always swear that he tried. He really did try to keep his calm just like he's been trained to do, but he was six. There was only so much a kid can take.

Just as the teacher walked in, Jumin punched the bully in the face. A resounding crack cued gasps in horror before ending in a loud scream from the victim. Tears filled his eyes as he clutched his nose, blood seeping through his fingers.

(~)

The aftermath was not fun to deal with. Thankfully, his parents were both busy, so he didn't have to face their wrath just yet. Looks like another lecture about the legacy of a Han and no dessert . . .

He sat alone at the office, reading a book while swinging his legs impatiently. The receptionist had just stepped away when a figure sat in the seat beside him.

"You didn't have to punch him, you know."

Without looking up, Jumin replied, "Was the only way to stop him."

"I could've handled it . . . it's not like I don't get that every day from . . ."

"You're welcome," Jumin said, finally looking up.

A beat passed before Jihyun smiled.

"Thank you."

Jumin nodded before returning to his book. The boys sat in silence before something interrupted his reading again.

Jumin glanced down at the cookie in disbelief, his brows furrowed in confusion. "My nanny made some. I thought it was the least I could do."

(~)

After a long time of cookie indulgence and book analysis, Jumin's mother finally arrived. Jihyun cleverly hid behind a couch as Mrs. Han chewed Jumin out.

Jumin winced at his mother's rant, looking down at his feet less out of shame and more to block the sheer volume of her voice. Her tone alone made him almost want to give up these shenanigans altogether.

She finally signed him out of school and dragged him home. It was _definitely_ not going to be fun when his father arrived.

But that's okay.

He can handle no dessert for a month.

After all, he has a new friend he can talk to.

And they happened to live right next to each other.

What a terrible punishment.


End file.
